


Ink, Blood and Tears

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-04-15
Updated: 2001-04-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 11:19:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11334654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Skinner writes two letters as he tries to figure out a way to save Mulder.





	Ink, Blood and Tears

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Ink, Blood and Tears by m. butterfly

Ink, Blood and Tears  
by m. butterfly  
  
http://Skinner.Mulder.com/walfox  
Rating: R for implied m/m affection & sex, language  
Category: M/Sk  
Spoilers: Biogenesis, SR 819, One Son, The End, The Beginning  
Archive: Anywhere--just leave my name on it  
Summary: Skinner writes two letters as he tries to figure out a way to save Mulder.  
Author's Notes: This is set immediately following "Biogenesis," which, I've decided, takes place in November 1999. If you don't like angst, run away now. Fast. This is *not* a happy story.  
Acknowledgments: Love and thanks to Michael for letting me try my "theories" out on him, and to the obscenely gifted Lucy Snowe for her incomparable beta skills, cheerleading, and surprise phone calls.  
Feedback appreciated (and always answered) at .  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen Productions and Fox Broadcasting. This is a work of fiction intended only for private enjoyment. (Yeah, like anyone could enjoy *this*.)

* * *

Ink, Blood and Tears  
by m. butterfly

November 11, 1999

Lucas J. Michaels  
Starkman, Michaels & Brown  
1013 Jefferson Ave. N.W.  
Suite 900  
Washington, DC

Dear Luke:

As previously discussed, please keep the enclosed document sealed and on file until instructed to do otherwise.

In the event of my death, the attached letter is to be delivered personally to Fox William Mulder, whose name, address and telephone numbers are indicated on the envelope. It is for his eyes only.

If Mr. Mulder passes away before the letter can be delivered to him, please destroy it, unopened.

Thanks, Luke.

Sincerely,

Walter S. Skinner

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

November 11, 1999

Dear Fox:

I hope to hell you're reading this.

Because if you are, then you're all right.

And I hope you didn't rip this up into a million pieces without opening it. The belief that you wouldn't do that is the only thing that's keeping me sane, the only thing that's making my inevitable death bearable.

I'm so sorry, babe. I'm sorry I had to lie to you, keep things from you. I was only trying to protect you, but they fucked me over and hurt you anyway. If only I'd killed that bastard when all this started, when I had the chance, none of this would have happened. I'd still be alive, and you wouldn't hate me.

I don't know where to begin. When I got home from the hospital tonight, my first instinct was to get drunk. Really drunk. But I knew that wouldn't do either one of us any good. So I took a scalding hot shower, as if that could wash away all the innocent blood I'm covered with. (I still feel dirty.) After, I pulled one of your T-shirts from the hamper and put it on. Then I grabbed another one and took it to bed with me. I tried to sleep, but I wound up bawling my head off, holding onto that damned shirt like it was a security blanket. I cried for you. I cried for Dana. I cried for me. I cried for *us*.

It's three in the morning and I'm at the kitchen table now. I started writing this in the bedroom--*our* bedroom--but I had to get out of there. God, I miss you so much! And knowing that I'll probably never see you again is tearing me up inside. It would be so easy to blow my brains out to stop this mind-numbing pain. But I'm not the prick you must think I am. While I'm still able to draw breath, I'm going to do everything I can to help you. When I know you're going to be okay, I'm going to kill Krycek, preferably with my bare hands. He's not in this alone, of course, and I'm no Rambo--I know I can't take them all on and win. But I'm going to damned well try.

But right now I'm going to see if I can explain things to you.

It started when you were away, following up that X-File near Cheyenne. It's hard to believe that was just over a week ago. I received a diskette at work on the morning of November 3. It came in a plain brown envelope, marked "personal." No note, no instructions, just the diskette. I had a bad feeling about it, but I put it in my A-drive anyway.

It was a series of photos. Grainy but graphic ones. Of us. Making love on the beach last June.

I knew right away who sent them. And why.

Later he confirmed my suspicions: that he'd known about us for months, as far back as January. Until he saw those pictures--or saw us in action and *took* the pictures--he thought I'd started sleeping with you after I was infected with the nanocytes as a way of controlling you. The stupid prick thought you were nothing more to me than a good fuck.

But when he found out how wrong he was--that I was in deeply love with you--he knew he had me by the balls.

As I sat there at my computer, staring at those images, I knew that Krycek hadn't been killed in the fire at El Rico Air Base after all. I also realized that the rules of the game had changed, and that he no longer needed that little death gadget of his to make me do his bidding. If my office didn't have a bathroom, I would have had to puke into my trash bin. As it was, I made it to the toilet just in time. I don't think I've ever been sick from fear before. Not like that, anyway. After I lost the contents of my stomach, I had the dry heaves like never before.

At some point, Kim came in. She got worried when I didn't answer my phone, and she knew I hadn't gone anywhere. She thought something terrible had happened to you. I nearly told her, "not yet." Instead, I lied. Something I've become shamefully good at, as you know. I told her that I had a flu bug or food poisoning, and was going home. She thought that was a good idea.

I ended up driving out of town. If I was going to break down, I didn't want to do it at home and scare the neighbours. About 45 minutes after I'd left DC, my cell phone rang. I was afraid to answer it because it could only be one of two people, and I wasn't ready to talk to you at that point. It was him. I left the road and turned off the engine.

He asked if I'd received his package yet, if I'd opened it. Then he told me about a case that had originated out of Africa, and said I was to assign it to you and Dana when you got back from Wyoming. Then he started talking about putting a surveillance camera in my office so I could tape our meetings about the case.

"Fuck off," I said.

He just laughed. "I know all about you and Mrs. Fox Skinner," he told me. "I know all about your adorable matching commitment rings and your little honeymoon in Provincetown."

Yeah, they were visible in those images he sent me. I instinctively put my palm up to my chest and pressed it against the ring, even though I knew it was there, hanging from the chain under my shirt. Hoping against hope, I told him he could go ahead and blackmail me, but I still wasn't going to take orders from him.

"You know I have no intention of blackmailing you, Skinner," he snorted. "Or your spooky lover boy."

Yeah, I knew. So I said, "I also know you're not going to kill him. He's far too valuable to the people whose boots you're licking these days."

"Oh, I'm not going to kill him," he said calmly. "But I *will* make him suffer. I'll kill his mother. And that pretty partner of his. And those three freaks he calls friends. And you, of course. I'll save you for last. I'll take away everyone he cares about, get him fired, get him committed. Is that what you want?"

And that's why I've done what I've done, Fox. I would have assassinated the President, the Pope, or both if Krycek told me to. Because I knew he wasn't bluffing about destroying you. And I couldn't let him do that.

But he's hurt you anyway. That's why I'm going to kill him. Or die trying.

Do you see why I couldn't come to you about this? No...knowing you, you probably don't. You probably think we've could have teamed up like Batman and Robin and saved the world--and each other--from the bad guys. It wouldn't have worked. Instead, both of us would have wound up being killed. Dana too, most likely. I just couldn't risk that, Fox.

After that conversation with Krycek, I knew that I would have to sacrifice our relationship in order to keep you alive. You're the one person I *cannot* lie to and get away with it. You knew there was something wrong the moment you got home from Wyoming. You kept trying to pry the truth out of me, and I had to keep lying to you and pushing you away. You have no idea how much it broke my heart to do that...Until today, those were the most miserable days of my life. But I had no choice. Can you see that? Can you understand?

That day in my office, when you had one of those aural dissonance episodes and accused me of putting someone else on the case, you were right, of course. It was Diana Fowley. I still don't know the exact nature of the relationship between Krycek, Fowley and that black-lunged son-of-a-bitch, but I intend to find out. And I'm going to make them pay for what they've done. At the time, I didn't think the physical pain you were experiencing had anything to do with them. I was so concerned about you, and felt so useless because I didn't know what to do to help you.

And that was when I knew I'd lost you. The way you looked at me before you left my office...I stared into your eyes and saw all the trust you ever had in me die. I watched as the hurt and confusion changed to anger and hate. That nearly killed me, Fox. Christ, I sometimes wish it had.

I was afraid to go home that night. Afraid of what I might find. Or not find. Like you. When I walked into the bedroom, I knew it was over. I checked the closet and your bags were gone, along with most of your suits. Your drawers were nearly empty, and the picture of Samantha you kept on the bureau was missing. Then I saw it. Your ring. Sitting on your bedside table. The way the light hit it, it looked like a tiny circular bloodstain.

The temptation to eat a bullet had never been stronger.

But I just sat there for a while. I'm not sure how long, really. When I finally found my voice, I called your apartment. At first I thought I'd dialled the wrong number. But then I realized who'd answered: Fowley. She said an ambulance was on its way to take you to Georgetown Memorial, then hung up without saying why.

I drove like a maniac to get to the hospital, and they wouldn't let me see you. I phoned Dana right away, hoping she could do something to help. You kept asking for her, calling for her. As far as I know, you never asked for me. God, how you must have hated me! But what else could I have expected? I'd lied to you and betrayed you, and you knew it. Even if you'd known why I'd acted as I had, you probably still would have wanted me out of your life.

So I sat in that fucking hospital, feeling guilty, feeling sorry for myself, feeling sick with worry over you, waiting for Dana, waiting for news about your condition. I purposely stayed away from Fowley. Dana was right about her all along. That woman is evil personified. I'm not exactly sure what she and Krycek did to you, but I do have a theory.

The one thing the doctors *do* know about what's going on is that you're experiencing extremely abnormal brain function. And that got me thinking about Gibson Praise and his ability to read minds. Isn't that what's been happening to you? That morning in my office wasn't a lucky guess on your part. You somehow *knew* what I was thinking--that I had someone else working on the case. I remember you telling me that the Smoker's butcher friends had been conducting experiments on Gibson's brain. I don't know how they did it, but I believe they've used some of the results from those experiments on you. The question is how? Well, I have *another* theory. (See what an influence you've had on me?)

The one thing that hasn't made any sense to me is the way the pencil rubbing of the artifact affected you. It was an ordinary piece of paper, for Christ's sake! Why would that impair or enhance your brain function?

Then it hit me: maybe they infected you the same way they infected me. Maybe they put some weird new experimental technology into your blood, something that can be triggered at will. You told me you started hearing the voices in your head the first time you touched the rubbing. Would you like to take a guess at who was lurking just outside my office that morning? Yup--Game Boy Krycek himself. I'd bet what little life I've got left that he was there at the university when you collapsed. He's probably the one who called Fowley to come and "rescue" you. (After what she's put you through, I'd like to strangle her, too.)

So that's my side of the story. I don't mean to burden you, but I just don't want to die without letting you know why I did what I did.

There's something else I want you to know. I realize that you no longer trust me, but I beg you to believe this, if nothing else: I love you. I love you more than I thought I could ever love another human being. What I feel for you is greater than love; there's no word to describe it adequately. The year we spent together was the happiest year of my life. It was far too short, but I consider myself lucky. Some people go through their entire lives without ever experiencing the kind of incredible joy I had with you. I'm well aware that big, tough former Marines aren't supposed to say shit like this, but you're the love of my life, Fox. You're my world. You mean everything to me. There's nothing I wouldn't do to protect you, to keep you safe, to avenge you.

Thank you for loving me for as long as you did, and for teaching me so much about myself. Before I met you, I was an emotional cripple, on my way to becoming a boring old fart. You showed me how to laugh again, how to have fun, how to love. It's been a privilege to know you, work with you, and share part of my life with you.

At first I wasn't going to write this letter. I thought it might be easier on you to think I was just another fucking liar who'd betrayed you. If you hated my guts, my death wouldn't hurt you very much, if at all.

But then I thought, if I let you think I'd used you all along, how would you ever trust anyone again? Or fall in love again? I'm no saint, Fox, and I've made a lot of mistakes. But I *do* love you. I don't want you to think that everyone on this planet is out to get you, or can't be trusted. You're an intelligent, passionate, attractive, affectionate, charming individual. Don't cut yourself off from the world after this. I know you'll find someone to love, who'll love you back the way you deserve. Maybe it'll be another man. Maybe a woman. Who knows? But don't give up on love, Fox. Don't give up on *life*. There are still some good people out there. As much as I hate to think of you with someone else, it hurts more to think of you living out the rest of your days alone.

I'm going to try to get some sleep now. Then I'm going to track down Krycek like the dog he is and kill him. When I think it's safe, I'll find Dana and tell her everything. (She hates me too, so I've got to somehow convince her that I'm on your side.) Between the two of us, I know we'll find a way to help you.

I'm sorry, Fox. I should have quit the Bureau when we became lovers, but I thought I could be an asset to you if I stayed. I don't know whether I'm arrogant or naive. Or just stupid.

At least I was smart enough to fall in love with you. I swear I never thought it would turn out this way. I hope you can forgive me someday.

Good bye, my beautiful boy. I'll love you forever.

Walter

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Fini  
June 4, 1999

  
Archived: April 10, 2001 


End file.
